


DC3: Tomorrow

by WichitaRed



Category: Alias Smith and Jones
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-13
Updated: 2017-12-13
Packaged: 2019-02-14 05:48:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13001166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WichitaRed/pseuds/WichitaRed
Summary: Tomorrow: Ghosts of their past have left Heyes feeling befuddled, but not as much, as they both are by Wichita's Sunday morning entertainment.**in fact, this little bit of Wichita's history might leave you as surprised as the boys. It is real, you can look it up.  :0)Destiny’s Cycle (DC) follows the Outlaw days.. what does Destiny have in store. Each month, I get a challenge, and then the cycle continues. You can follow KC, HH, & the gang through their adventures. DC does link together, but some tales stand on their own. Yet, its building its own world history, inside jokes, characters, places, etc. I hope you enjoy DC. Feedback WELCOMED!





	DC3: Tomorrow

 

“Tomorrow”

 

Letting out a long breath, Heyes turned his face to the searing, orange ball of light sinking below the tree line; concentrating on shaking whatever _that had been,_ back in the saloon. When he was jerked backwards, his feet becoming entangled, he stumbled, crashing into Kid Curry.

“You ‘bout got yourself ran down.” Curry stated, pointing at a fast moving buggy.

“Oh.” Heyes replied, his gaze drifting toward the crooked batwing doors.

“What the hell happened in there?” Curry asked, jerking a thumb at Schnitzler’s Saloon.

Heyes shook his head, “think I’m ready for bed.”

“It isn’t even dark!?”

His voice sounding distant, Heyes distractedly replied, “yeah.” Stepping up on the raised boardwalk, he started walking. “And, tomorrow, we’re leaving Wichita.”

“You said this would be a lively town to rest our heels in.”

“Changed my mind.” And, moving faster, Heyes tugged his hat down, “we’re leaving tomorrow.”

Curry shook his head, “Well, I ain’t tired, so once I see where our room is, I’ll leave you to your rest.”

Heyes stopped.

Curry pulled up.

Heyes’ dark eyes slanted to his cousin who was glaring at him. He took in Curry’s broad, tight shoulders and thick build; seeing his irritation up close reminded Heyes that Kid was too big to be bossed around. Still, what he had seen in the saloon had his nerves on edge and he felt, he should at least try to talk him into not going back out. “Why don’t you stay in, you’ll just get yourself in some difficulty.”

Curry’s mouth formed into a hard frown.

“Kid, I’d just feel better if you stayed in.”

“And, I’d feel better if you told me, what got you all twisted up.”

Heyes rubbed a hand across his face, “maybe, tomorrow.” Seeing they were in front of the Southern Hotel, he pushed through its green front door, and slapped the brass bell on the counter.

An overly, tall woman emerged from behind a curtained door, “Can I help you?”

“Like a room, preferably one that looks out over the street.”

“Two dollars,” she stated, pulling a key from the hook and spinning the ledger book for Heyes to sign.

Digging out the coins, he laid them on the counter, signing Joshua R. Reynolds on the next empty line.

“Check out is at ten.”

He nodded, passing her a weak smile, and taking the key.

Curry moved to follow him.

The woman hissed, “Sir,” tapping the ledger, “city requires we keep track of who stays over.”

Smiling, Curry picked up the pen, dipped it in the inkwell and scribbled out a signature.

 The hotel clerk’s small eyes went to the sound of Heyes’ boots clumping along the upper hall, “He feelin’ all right seems a bit pale. I don’t want no illness here.”

 “He’s fine Ma’am, just a bit over-tired.”

 She frowned, deep lines appearing between her brows, “if you say so.”

 “I do.” Curry responded, and touching his fingers to the edge of his hat, he hurried after his friend. By the time, he reached the room; Heyes was sitting on a bed, toeing his boots off.

 “You sure, you don’t want to talk?”

 “Tomorrow.”

 “Now, Heyes—“

 His eyes snapped hard and black to Curry, “leave me be, Kid.”

 Recognizing the look, Curry held up his hands, and backed from the room, “I’ll check on you later.”

 “Do what you want.”

 Exhaling out a sigh, Curry shut the door and locking it, placed the key in his vest pocket.

 

________________________ ASJ ______________________________

 

“Didn’t hear you come in last night.”

“That was my intent, figured you needed the rest. Um, Heyes…”

With his straight razor hovering near his jaw line, Heyes eyed Curry in the mirror’s reflection.

“It’s tomorrow, you want to talk?”

The rasp of the razor, removing the dark stubble, was louder than Heyes’ grunted reply.

“All right, well, how ‘bout you tell me over breakfast?”

No answer.

“Most days, I can’t get you to pipe down, but ever since you jumped that gunny, yesterday, I ain’t been able to get more than a couple words out of you.”

“And, you’re complaining?”

Kid Curry paused from buckling on his holster, “Don’t feel natural is all.” A smile erupted from Hannibal Heyes, large enough and real enough, that Kid thought, ‘maybe, he’s coming back to himself.’

Stepping from the Hotel, Curry squinted at the bright morning light. The angle of the sun, telling him they had slept later than he thought.

“You want to grab some food?”

The corners of Curry’s mouth curled up.

Heyes shook his head, “why do I even ask?”

“Let’s go find that German place.” Curry said, looking first left, and then right, trying to recall where they had been told it was. “You figure the food is as good as them guys was sayin’?”

“Why?” Heyes asked, taking the lead. “Do you actually taste what you shovel down?” 

“Funny, Heyes.” Curry snarled, following his cousin east along Chicago Avenue. It came to him there was a good number of cowboys gathering on the streets, enough they had to weave around them. “Hey, you, recall where it’s at? Or, do we need to ask someone.”

“Other side of the river and we have to pay a toll to cross.”

Curry’s mouth twisted to the side and hurrying his step, he grumped, “it better be good then.”

“From all reports, it is and it's said to have fruit danishes.”

“What’s that?”

“Rolls that are sweet and delicious according to that drunk peddler, who kept bending all our ears at the poker table, rather than just playing.” Heyes replied, coming to an abrupt halt.

Curry peered around him, at the muddy alley and on to where the boardwalk restarted on the other side.

Frowning enough that his lips pursed out, Heyes avoided the muck by altering his course and stepping into the main thoroughfare; where he fussily steered himself clear of standing water, which he suspected was not water at all.

Hearing a racket behind them, Curry turned to see what was happening. And, what he saw was a team of horses charging their way. His eyes bulged. Without hesitation, he leapt back onto the walk, dragging his cousin after him. Who was nimble enough, this time, to keep up, despite being snagged by surprise.

“Damn it, but, you need to break off snatching hold of me like---“Heyes’ voice trailed off, his eyes focusing beyond his cousin’s shoulder.

“If you—“

“Would you look at that!?” Heyes exclaimed, forcibly turning Curry to face the street.

Curry’s mouth popped open. “I never seen anything like it.”

Giving up on trying to count how many saloon girls were crammed in the wagons that were barreling by, Heyes leaned into his pal, “You think their running ‘em out of town?”

Half under his breath, Curry replied, “Lord, I hope not.” Then, with a grin, he peeked at his cousin, who was wearing a smile that had completely taken over his face. “They can’t be. Let’s see what’s up.”

Nodding in agreement, they hopped into the street, joining the crowd of cowboys trotting after the wagons. “What day is it?”

“Sunday…” Curry’s brow furrowed, “yeah, Sunday.”

“Why you think they are all out here?” Heyes asked, motioning to the large herd of cowboys surrounding them.

“Does seem awful strange, don’t it?”

As they neared the wide, large toll bridge, the wagons veered toward the banks of the Arkansas River, where the teamsters hauled in their leads. Before the wagons had hardly stopped, saloon girls were leaping to the muddy ground. The whole lot of them laughing as if they knew the best joke told in the West while flinging their clothing, piece by piece, into the wagons; to a rising chorus of hooting cheers.

Curry’s blue eyes widened, darting from one bare body to another, “Uhm, Heyes, am I seein’, what I think, I’m seein’?”

“If ‘n you’re seeing ladies stripping to their skin…” Heyes elbowed Curry, his dimples creasing deeply into his face, “Then we’re seeing the same thing.”

A man wearing a blue plaid jacket strolled close, “You want to place a bet, Sonny?”

Heyes tore his gaze from the naked women, “a bet???”

“Yup! Anything you like… who’ll finish first, last, most out of breath, most covered in mud… you think it up and I’m sure others will join you on the bet.”

“We just arrived in Wichita, yesterday. What is going on?”

“Why, by golly, it be the running of the Doves. See, once they has plucked off all their feathers, them Doves will line up, and when the signal be gave, the race will begin. They be all heading for Rowdy Joe’s place. Now, you wanna bet or not?”

“Think I’ll pass.” Heyes answered.

“What about him?”

Heyes nudged his cousin.

“Uh, hum… what?” Curry squeaked, his eyes never moving from the giggling, jiggling, crowd of women.

“Don’t think his minds on bettin’, thanks anyway.”

With a loud chortle, the man popped Heyes on the shoulder as he moved on, “maybe, next race.”

Startled, Heyes blurted out, “next race??” 

But the man had moved off deeper into the crowd, hollering odds and taking bets.

“Heyes, wouldn’t you think this was all, well…”

“Illegal?!”

“Yeah.”

“Cowtowns don’t always follow _de rigueur_ Victorian etiquette.”

“What?”

“Never mind.” Heyes pointed at how the men were creating a corridor, “figure we best choose a side of the street.”

A bull of a man with flaming red hair and a large curled mustache, wearing a vest, that was gaudy enough to match his style, stepped into the street; holding up his hands. “If ‘n ya happen to be new to our Peerless Princess of the Plains, I’m Rowdy Joe, proprietor of the biggest damn saloon here. And, I gotta say, I’m damn glad to see y’all. And, furthermore, y’all are gonna be damn glad, you came out for Delano’s Running of the Doves. Weather permitting, our Doves have been racin’ along Chicago Avenue, since the spring of ’72.” He pointed east across the river, “much to the peevish annoyance, of all those who got their nose up in the air, over there.”

A long-legged blonde strode up and draped her arm about Joe’s rounded shoulders; her bare body curving and bulging in all the right places.

“Now boys, this little filly here is Amazin’ Grace and she is our most frequent winner, hope y’all betted accordingly.”

With a large, laughing smile, Amazin’ Grace spun in a circle and Joe popped her plump backside, “best get to the line, sweets.”

A ripping, bawdy laugh erupted from her and she dashed to elbow herself a spot in line among the other women.

“Y’all Doves ready?” Joe called

A chorus of squeals and yahoos rose up from the doves and cowboys alike.

Jumping into one of the wagons, Joe raised a nickel plated Colt, high above his head, and with a mischievous grin pulled the trigger.

The women took off in a bouncing, shoving, shrieking rush of flesh.

The cowboys trotted alongside, urging them on; until only Heyes, Curry and a handful of other dumbstruck, new arrivals to Wichita, were left behind with their mouths hanging open.

Exhaling so hard his lips flapped, Heyes said, “Well, hell, I believe, I can say, I’ve seen the elephant.”

“That you have, Sonny. You gonna bet on the next race.”

“What time tomorrow, I need to be down here?”

“Tomorrow, HA!” the man slapped Heyes on the back, again, “Ain’t you the eager one. Doves only run on Sundays.”

Curry looked around the man, to his cousin, “We’re not still leavin’ are we?”


End file.
